


ichor and reprieve

by andchaos



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Coda, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:09:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5246081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What if the world ended?” Patroclus asked.  “What if the gods came down upon us and scorched the whole earth? Would we still stay here?”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“I would fight the gods before they scorched a place as holy as this,” Achilles said.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Patroclus turned to press his lips to Achilles’s shoulder. “Don’t be blasphemous,” he mumbled. “This isn’t holy ground, anyway.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“Of course it is,” he said. “Any place where your feet have treaded is as holy ground as any.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Or, a lazy afternoon on Mount Pelion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ichor and reprieve

          The cave was always serene in the early afternoons, the forest alight with the wild and giving off a low but constant thrum of _life_. Patroclus liked it best then, when he was sure that the world had stopped, that time itself had frozen as a special favor to him. In early afternoons like this one, he was sure that the gods had conferred, and that Helios had granted him a brief reprieve from the irrepressible cycle of the sun so that he could spend a few more precious seconds here, stolen and granted from the gods themselves.

          Achilles stretched beside him, naked and tan and with sweat lingering around his collar and the dips around his hipbones. Patroclus traced him with his eyes, both hungry and content, and glanced back up to see that Achilles was smiling.

          “You’re staring, Patroclus.”

          “I am,” he agreed. He had left that sheen on the boy sprawled out beside him; he thought he had the right to stare.

          Achilles’s smile quirked up even further. “And?”

          As though to assist in Patroclus’s assessment, he stretched further out on the grass where they lay beside the pond where the river evened out. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back so that the lines of his throat exposed and lengthened along with his torso. Patroclus smiled at him, so young and lively and beautiful, and turned onto his stomach, pressing closer to Achilles’s side. He ran his hand up over his chest. Achilles seemed to preen further under the gesture.

          “And…I think there is much to stare at,” he said finally. Then added, “Don’t pretend you don’t want me looking.”

          He never tired of Achilles’s laugh. If anyone ever needed proof that Achilles descended from the gods, Patroclus thought that his laugh alone would be more than enough to show them.

          “Look all you like,” he said.

          Patroclus did. He didn’t mind the lull in their nonexistent conversation either, because it only meant that he had more focus for Achilles’s chest, for his throat, to trace his fingers over his lips. His mouth opened beneath his touch, his breath warm on Patroclus’s hand. Patroclus moved on, feathering his touch over Achilles’s cheeks and back down the side of his neck. He pulled his body away so he could run his hand over his shoulder and down his arm instead.

          “Is there a reason for your worship?” Achilles asked, turning his hand up and reaching, sliding his fingers through Patroclus’s when he found the veins of his wrist. “Not that I’m unhappy with it.”

          Patroclus laughed, letting Achilles tug him closer until they were lying beside each other again, touching nearly all along their sides. His feet fell into the water, cool and sweet and leveling.

          “I am lucky,” he answered simply, decisively. “Not many fall into bed with someone like you.”

          “Patroclus,” he said, slanting him a glance, “among many things, heroes and those slated to become heroes are known for falling into bed.” He pressed his lips together, his eyes shining with amusement. “But you and me, and all the rest of it…I agree. I am lucky.”

          Patroclus looked at him. He thought that if he spent from sunup to sundown just looking at Achilles, it would be a day well spent.

          “You’re lucky?” he echoed.

          Achilles softened. His hand, wrapped with Patroclus’s, tightened fiercely.

          “I am lucky,” he repeated, solemnly.

          Patroclus _hmm_ ed through his teeth and didn’t answer. He didn’t want to dispute Achilles on this. Besides, maybe they were both the lucky ones. Maybe this, them, together—maybe that was the lucky thing. The sun was warm and the water on his ankles was warm and Patroclus felt very lucky. Even though he had worked and fought for what he had now, he still felt the urge to thank the gods. But the gods couldn’t see them up here, on Mount Pelion, and Patroclus didn’t want to call their attention if that was possible to evade. He never wanted this to end.

          “Do you think,” Patroclus said slowly, “do you think we could stay here forever?”

          That was even less possible, and he knew it. He shifted, burying his face against Achilles’s skin. He smelled of figs and forest, and Patroclus breathed in, filling his senses with Achilles. That was all he wanted: To stay here and never move.

          Achilles must have known it too, the impossibility of it. Still, he freed his hand and brushed it through Patroclus’s hair, soft and soothing.

          “Forever,” he promised.

          Patroclus smiled, ducking his face further against Achilles’s skin. He wasn’t entirely surprised when he felt Achilles brush his thumb against the corner of his mouth, and he tilted his face up instead, letting him see him blush and grin. Achilles always told him how beautiful he looked when he was happy; Patroclus would never deprive him of that, no matter his own self-consciousness.

          “What if the world ended?” Patroclus asked. He knew he was taking them out of the realm of seriousness and defeating the romanticism, but he didn’t care. Achilles tipped his head back and laughed, and he didn’t care. “What if the gods came down upon us and scorched the whole earth? Would we still stay here?”

          “I would fight the gods before they scorched a place as holy as this,” Achilles said, sounding so strong and sure in his declaration that Patroclus almost forgot that they were talking in ridiculous hypotheticals.

          Patroclus turned to press his lips to Achilles’s shoulder. “Don’t be blasphemous,” he mumbled. “This isn’t holy ground, anyway.”

          “Of course it is,” he said. “Any place where your feet have treaded is as holy ground as any.”

          Patroclus pressed his smile into Achilles’s skin, his cheeks heating again. “Please,” he said.

          Achilles pressed on, “When you return to the cave, I would sooner worship the imprint you’ll leave in this grass than trek to a temple for my prayers.”

          “Oh, stop!” Instead of recoiling from him, Patroclus tucked his arm around Achilles’s chest, hugging him closer. “Your mother said she couldn’t see us here, not that she couldn’t hear us. You blaspheme so loud you could wake even Hypnos.”

          Then Achilles unleashed his golden laugh and Patroclus forgave his sins, even before he ducked his head in search of Patroclus’s lips, a gift which he gave easily. When Achilles kissed him, Patroclus thought he could feel the ichor of his veins seeping across his tongue and down his throat.

          Achilles laid him gently in the grass and hovered over him as they kissed, slow and without the heat that had always seemed to possess them when they first started touching like this, with meaning that was deeper than just hero and companion. Patroclus was always warm with Achilles, but now the heat he felt seemed borne more of the sun’s sleepy warmth than that of carnal need. Possibly that was Achilles, even brighter than the sun beating through the trees’ canopy, and melting through every inch of him.

          After awhile, when their kissing grew tired, Achilles rested his forehead against Patroclus’s and lay there, quiet. Patroclus looked up in the small distance between them, hypnotized where their gazes met. The gods could have scorched the earth after all, and Patroclus didn’t think he would notice if Achilles never moved from his place on top of him.

          “Did you mean it?” Patroclus asked, breaking their quiet spell.

          Achilles didn’t hesitate, as though he was following Patroclus’s train of thought as clearly as if he had spelled it in the dirt beside them all along. His voice was sweet when he promised,

          “Forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> [xoxox](http://badlandd.tumblr.com/post/133554971895)


End file.
